Dance with me
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: Sometimes words are meaningless. Sometimes they don't make things better. Sometimes what we really need, when we're suffering, is to dance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Dance with me."

His voice is a sudden intrusion into the almost oppressively thick air of her office. Whilst she maintains an open door policy with all of her agents, this wasn't exactly what she'd expected. Despite the fact that it's Patrick Jane, the man that she was utterly fascinated by, and under any other circumstances she'd be glad to see him, Right now all she wants is to be left alone.

For the most part her day has been pretty shitty. A hard case that drags at her bones like dark molasses and threatens to rob her of sleep for a few nights more at least. She feels tired and aching, like her skin has been rubbed with sandpaper.

There have always been hard days. That's part of the job. Days that make her reconsider her choice to engage in this line of work, that make her want to give up and go home and forget every dark thing she's seen. And then there are days where she feels so damn alone that she thinks if anyone touches her she'll shatter like glass. And she can handle those days.

But then there are days like today. Where the two intertwine and she's not sure whether she wants to crawl into bed and cry or hit the gun range and reduce a couple of targets to scrap. Where she isn't really sure what she's feeling, only that she's hurting. Hurting badly enough that alcohol is singing to her.

It would be easy, she thinks, to go for that bottle in the drawer. To drink until everything makes sense and the pain is less, if only because it's viewed through a foggy gaze.

But she's been through worse. And she certainly doesn't need the hangover tomorrow for it. It'll only dull her senses, make her confused and achy. But it won't erase what she's seen, it won't make it okay.

So she'll do what she's always done. Fill out her reports, go home and work out until she drops, sleep it off and come in tomorrow, pretending she's okay until she starts believing it herself.

Of course that all changed when He drifted into her office.

It wasn't exactly an unexpected occurrence. When he was bored, or just needed the quiet he'd slip into her office and conk out on her couch. They never spoke of it when he did and in return for her silence he didn't make unreasonable demands on her when she was in here.

But right now she feels like she's barely holding together, like her insides are twisting in multiple directions and it's only by the barest scrap of skin that she doesn't explode. And when he stepped into her office she very much regretted not locking the door. Whilst she was usually happy to see him, he was on a post case high. Which meant he'd needle her, and she just couldn't deal with that tonight.

She realises with a sinking feeling that he's still waiting for a response to his absurd demand and vainly she ignores him. Some childish hope that if she didn't acknowledge him then he'd go away. he'd leave and she could hold onto her sanity and her emotions until she could retreat.

But she's underestimated his persistence, not for the first time, "Dance with me."

This time his voice is closer, and the sound of her door closing behind him makes her look up instinctively. Which means she's treated to him peeling off his navy blue jacket and tossing it against her vibrant couch.

He's breathtaking, as usual. Slim fit blue grey vest stylishly matched to the crisp business shirt underneath. Well cut slacks that perfectly framed his ass and legs.

Not that she'd been looking. At all. ever. Especially not earlier when he'd leant over a desk in order to snatch something from Rigsby and the slacks had tightened in just the right way. Nope. Not even then.

She finally manages to drag her eyes away from his body and upwards towards his face. There was amusement, but she'd expected that much. Blastedly observant man. His eyes have a glimmer of concern in them, but he's practically humming with pent up energy. That post case rush.

Again her brain informs her that he's still waiting for a response.

All she can manage is, "What?"

That causes a smirk to tug at those wonderfully carved lips, as if he finds her atypically succinct response amusing.

"You heard what I said, but I'll repeat it anyway. Dance with me."

It's surprising how much she wants to. The idea of dancing with him was one that she kept locked away in her subconscious, that tormented her when she saw him moving so gracefully in the field. But she knows better, dancing with him even platonically is dangerous. There's a reason, after all, that she keeps physical contact to a minimum. Her brain goes curiously blank and she blinks myopically for a few seconds. And the only thing she can think of is, "we have no music."

Which was not, funnily enough, the refusal she'd intended to give.

That little smirk of his changes, spreading across his lips into a happy smile. As if by not immediately shooting down the idea and throwing him from the office, she's somehow said yes. For once it appears free of guile, a real smile from the usually controlled consultant.

He prowls around her desk, the movement slow and confidant. She cannot help but notice the gracefulness inherent in his movements. Like a natural born dancer moving to some rhythm only he can hear. He offers her his hand, like something out of a fairy tale. All she had to do was take it, and the story could bloom to life.

But being close to him was a bad idea, especially with how raw she was. He'd make some quip, some otherwise innocuous comment that would sting and she'd shatter. She turns her focus back to her desk, to the scattered papers that she was sure was important, pen still in hand.

"I'm not in the mood Jane." She dismisses. And for a moment she's torn between wanting him to take the hint and walk away, and regretting giving the hint in the first place.

Suddenly his hand darts down, seizing her hand gently. With a deft motion he uses his other hand to pluck the pen from her grasp and place it back on the desk. She should have yanked her hand back, but her body didn't seem inclined to obey. With a cautious tug he pulled her to her feet.

"Jane!"

Finally her voice cooperated, injecting a hint of disapproval into her tone. But it didn't seem to have any effect on him. Patrick just tugged her along until they stood in the wider space in front of her desk. She made as if to step back, fighting against his plan, against the offer of a dance. His grip tightened and he pulled her again, this time against his chest with a slight thump.

The collision is a gentle one, but she feels as if she's been struck between the eyes by a mallet. Her senses are overwhelmed.

Patrick smells of an expensive cologne, slightly rich and exotic, but the smell is relaxing. It compliments the faint whiffs of the peppermint shampoo and the mint of his tea. He feels strong and solid against her. Her eyes are drawn to where he still holds her hand captive, slightly to the side as if they were about to begin a waltz.

Before she can pull back to a relatively safe distance, he slips an arm around her back and just holds her in place. If she really wanted to she could break the hold easily. She'd just have to push back and she'd be free. But the trouble is that she doesn't want to.

He's solid, an anchor when she needs one most. He's warm, warmer than her. and she suddenly craves that warmth. The same way she occasionally craves coffee, or sleep. It's a need that her body desperately sought no matter the ramblings of her mind. She sinks into him, into this little peace offering. For a moment she lets herself find comfort in that warmth.

She's not sure how long it is before he starts to sway side to side, the motions small and gentle. Like a small wave, rocking her back and forth. And instead of fighting him like logic demands she should, she drifts. Allows him to lead her in these small movements. Unbidden tears prickle her eyes, and she fights them.

He was being so sweet, and his presence so calming that the anger that had kept her in an emotional limbo faded. All she could feel now was how much she was hurting.

Damn it! She didn't want to cry. She certainly didn't want to do so onto that expensive shirt and vest. But like so many other things that night her tears wouldn't be swayed. They just swelled up on her lashes, dripping down her cheeks. He released her hand and cradled her head, keeping her pressed against his chest. As if he'd sensed that she was going to pull back.

Her hands came up, gripping the material tightly as she fought to control her emotions. To stem the tide of tears that threatened to wash her away. But it was like a dam had burst inside her. She didn't make a noise, but the tears kept coming.

His fingers stroked her hair, but not in a demeaning way. Rather it was as if he was trying to soothe her without being overt about it. As if he was afraid that speaking would break this strange spell between them and the fairy tale would come crashing down like stained glass windows onto stone.


	2. Chapter 2

She came back to herself slowly, swaying side to side with him. His chest was vibrating against her ear, and now that she had regained some of her cognitive functions she realised that he was humming softly. She was strangely touched that he was addressing the one complaint that she'd managed to make before he'd pulled her into this. they had music.

He murmured softly, "You shouldn't let yourself get so pent up Lisbon."

That pulls a chuckle from her, but despite her best efforts it's a raw broken sound, "yeah."

Jane continued, his voice in that same soft beguiling tone that seemed to soothe over her hurts like honey, "Everyone has their little stress reliefs. Rigsby plays videogames. Cho reads mystery novels. Van pelt takes long baths and plays her music obnoxiously loud."

Part of her, a silly jealous part flares up at that. Wondering how he could possibly know about Van pelts bathing habits. But before she can think of anything to say that doesn't just smack of jealousy he continues.

"But you? You just bottle up until you meltdown. That is not a healthy way to do it."

"And you would know?" She questions, a slightly sarcastic lilt to her tone.

He chuckles, and the sound reverberates in his chest, bringing an unwanted smile to her lips, "Fair point, I suppose."

Slowly her hands unclench, but she doesn't lift her head and she doesn't retreat. Her eyes are red and even though he's just felt her cry she's still hesitant to look up. To show him that vulnerability in herself.

"Why-"

Her throat clenches painfully, and she coughs to clear it, "Why did you do this?"

They sway for a moment longer before he gathers himself enough to answer, "Is it not enough to say that we're friends? That you needed this?"

But that isn't the whole story, and for once she can't accept another half truth from him.

"Jane."

He lets out a sound that's half exasperation and half amused fondness. He pulls back abruptly and places his hands on the sides of her face, forcing her to look up at him. For a second she's worried that she's overstepped. That she's somehow done something to shatter their hard-won peace. Almost immediately she wants to look away, she despises being seen this vulnerable. But his gaze captures her, keeps her frozen in place. Because what she's seeing she cannot explain.

There's so much in his eyes. conflicting emotions that dance across the sea green surface, flickering like fire. and she's trying to follow them, to catch them and catalogue them like butterflies. But they flicker in and out, like smoke, and the second she tries to capture one it slips between her fingers and escapes.

He leans forward and presses the softest of kisses to her lips. It's the most gentle chaste kiss she's ever received. And yet it means so much more than all the others. And suddenly pieces click into place. Scattered confused fragments of a story that had never made sense on their own ,and had tormented her, suddenly fit into place and she understood.

She understood everything he wasn't telling her. Everything that he couldn't tell her, at least not yet. and as he pulls back all those emotions she had seen in his eyes are clearer now. Her lips curl in a brilliant smile, like a child on Christmas morning. And he matches it, eyes crinkling at the corners.

And then he takes her hands in his and pulls her into a stumbling carefree kind of dance. There's no music, and outside her office there are at least a dozen weary cops, not to mention her team. All of whom would have noticed how long her door had been shut and the blinds had been drawn. The rumour mill would be going mad.

But she cannot find it within herself to care about that. Not when he's so deliciously warm in her arms. Not when they're having this kind of fun. What she cares about are those stumbling whirling clumsy steps in a dance that defines them.

It's messy. Uncoordinated and just a little silly. But at the end of the day it's the best dance she's had the good fortune to dance. He's stepping along, leading her. But she's still throwing in her fair share of surprises. And even though the steps are new and the dance unplanned, they never step on each other's toes.

Dancing doesn't make everything better. The pain is still there, lingering like some foul smoke in the corners of her mind. Perhaps all this will do is make their next day harder when reality intrudes. When they must once again step back into their respective distant roles and pretend that there is nothing but friendship between them.

But for now?

For now she'll take a dance and a kiss in her office.

She'll take it and squirrel it away in her memories to hold her through the darker days ahead. Let the rest of the world be damned.

One day they'll be free to say the words. One day Red John wont be an issue, and they can explore this the right way.

But until then?

Until then, there's always the next dance.

* * *

_Authors note: I hope you enjoyed this :D and thank you kindly for the reviews. i hope you'll continue to do so even though this is completed. _

_As for the delay i can only apologize, i've been flat out the last week or so, with a meeting with a writing group and preparations for my fourth year of university._

_Until next time,_

_Madam Red._


End file.
